


Same as it Ever Was (Same as it Ever Was)

by scorpiobabylon



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Richie Tozier, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, PWP (Porn with Pining), Porn with Feelings, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, vers for vers is the enlightened opinion but Eddie tops in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22022218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiobabylon/pseuds/scorpiobabylon
Summary: "How did I live over two decades without acknowledging the goings-on of the fucking sun?"First-person Richie Tozier finds one Eddie Kaspbrak back in his life. He wants him. They're grown men. They boink. Set during the events of Chapter Two.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	Same as it Ever Was (Same as it Ever Was)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Reddie fic, and it's also accidentally a Talking Heads song fic. You get what you get.

It’s just Eddie.  
  
That’s supposed to calm me down, but the ease with which an Eddie fits into my personal what-is-and-always-shall-be is disarming. Alarming, that a person could be so right, a law of physics, a given, the sun rising and setting, but only within my world of awareness for all of tonight. How did I live over two decades without acknowledging the goings-on of the fucking sun?  
  
But he’s just Eddie. Natural as slipping my phone out of my right pants pocket, staring as if to check the time, sticking it back into the pocket without registering the time, then taking that sucker out again to speak the time aloud. Hell, Eddie’s even the size he’s supposed to be. It feels just like it should, gently tilting my chin down to glance at him. I wonder if it feels right for him to swivel that strong chin up at me.  
  
I’m hopeful, wanting to be liked, then anxious, being perceived-- but it’s just Eddie. Richie should fit perfectly into his universe, too, shouldn’t he?  
  
Over dinner, I stare at him like we’re all staring at each other. What good does it do to feign polite disinterest when we’re in the shit together? The stakes are way too fucking high for me to deny myself the simple pleasure of drunkenly zooming in on Eddie’s brows, the shape of his ears, the workings of the muscles in his face as he chews his dinner, the deepening wrinkles around his mouth as he laughs, or shouts. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was. 

_Look where my hand was._

_Time isn’t holding up -- time isn’t after us--_

At the inn, I knock my forehead against the wood frame around his closed door. I bonk myself a little too hard, and wince. Holding still, I can hear him shuffling around in there.  
  
The timeline where I stayed in my room nearly unfolded. That version of the evening was magnetic, so comfortable, so yummy to just lay down and sleep. After a long bout of pacing, I sat on the bed in my pajamas and only had tipping over left to do. I could have touched my cheek to the pillow to become the Richie that never dealt with Eddie, but stood myself up against every protective instinct in my too-big body, and metaphysically patted that Richie’s ass on the way out the door.  
  
I’ve got my knuckles out to knock when Eddie opens up to stare at me through a sliver. What a comfort, that with all the time and the handsome shaping him, his eyes are the same size in proportion to his face. Great big beautiful--  
  
“Do you want to come in?” He asks as a six-syllable word, not making any move to open the door further. I have to confirm verbally to enter.  
  
“Sure, man, or--” I hesitate, gesturing over my shoulder to the stairs, self-consciously providing options. “We could have a drink downstairs, if you don’t want me barging into your--”  
  
He pushes the door open and steps way back. His eyes aren’t on me anymore, they’re on the bed, on the wall, whatever.  
  
“Cool.” I agree. I stuff my hands into my pajama bottom pockets and march on in, suddenly aware of the way the air feels on the backs of my arms in this T-shirt. Eddie shuts the door behind us, and I’m reminded of what a great and easy time other-timeline Richie must be having, laying on his side, anticipating sleep. This guy-- the bitch I’m in-- is having some fucking trouble. He’s nervous as all hell.  
  
When Eddie’s eyes flick back to mine, I know I’m not alone.  
  
What do I say?  
  
 _Letting the days go by-- water flowing underground--_ _  
__  
_“I am so fucking scared, Eddie.” I tell him, my voice a foot away from me in the room, disconnected from my mouth. The sound reverberates in my chest and then appears in front of me like a Richie-cast cartoon mouse. “I pissed, like, eight times since we left the restaurant. Took the fastest shower of my fucking life, like my dick was gonna turn into a spider if I left it exposed for too long-- and Jesus, why didn’t it? Does this thing have rules? Does it operate within business hours? It, _it,_ the fucking thing, how does it work? Why are we all in our separate corners right now instead of consulting the lorekeeper? Mike--” I do an impression of myself, voice lower and more nasally, eyes bugged, “Mike, is my dick gonna turn into a spider? Does it go back to normal once we kill this fucker?”  
  
“It would probably go back to normal.” Eddie’s nodding, bobbing his head in an anxious rattle, frowning hard. “Once we kill this fucker.”  
  
I drop the face I’m making, putting my hands on my hips to explain, “My dick’s not--... It’s not a spider.”  
  
“No, I know it’s not a fucking spider, Rich.” He lets out an exasperated huff, mirroring my stance. He’s got neat pajama bottoms on, and there’s probably a matching button-down top to go with them, but he’s opted for a gray undershirt. He’s so cute. He’s got some mass on his arms, and his chest is p--  
  
“I’m scared, too.” Eddie tells me, voice small, sounding more like the little boy I watched kiss his mommy goodbye than the grown man whose muscles I was just admiring. “I don’t wanna do this. I don’t wanna fucking be here right now, man, I’m freaking out.” He taps his foot rapidly, looking away again. “I don’t wanna remember any of this shit. Ignorance is bliss, right?”  
  
I cross my arms over my chest, shrugging my shoulders up into my ears as I admit, “I dunno, man, I was pretty fucking miserable before I came.”  
  
He looks my way in a moment of understanding. He nods sheepishly. My shoulders settle. He takes a seat on the bed, his movement robotic, like it’s taking every ounce of willpower to make his body do what he wants it to. I’m right there with him, settling beside him and hoping he thinks I’m more comfortable than I really am.  
  
Anyway. It’s just Eddie.   
  
“The clown. I don’t wanna remember the clown.” He clarifies seriously, maintaining his pride. I can’t not crack a smile. “You guys-- of course I’m happy I remember you guys, it’s just fucked up thow I ever didn’t. It’s like not knowing there’s a fucking--”  
  
“Sun.”  
  
“--legal statute against wearing white after Labor day. Sun?”  
  
“It’s fucking illegal?”  
  
“No, dickhead, it’s not actually illegal, I’m illustrating the severity of the situation. The sun?”  
  
“The sun. It’s like forgetting there’s a fucking sun. Are you gay?” It just comes out, the cartoon mouse doing the talking for me again. It’s not Mickey, by the way, it’s this big-bodied fucker with a little tiny head and buck teeth, and he’s running the fucking show.  
  
Eddie doesn’t actually say ‘woah’, but his whole face says ‘woah’, and then he’s scrunching up, holding both hands up to shield himself from baseless accusations, and he’s not actually saying ‘no’, but he’s shaking his head like ‘no’, going, “Now _that-that-that’s_ a fucking thing to say to a guy just because you--”  
  
“I’m gay.” I tell him, and even the mouse swivels his itty-bitty head around in disbelief.  
  
Eddie keeps his hands up, rigid, lip switching. “I’m married.” He insists, as if he has to keep defending himself, as if I haven’t just dropped a major disclosure on him.  
  
“Yeah, asshole, me too, I told you.”  
  
He breaks the pose only to jab me in the shoulder with two fingers, bitching, “fuck off. Fuck off.”  
  
“Your mom doesn’t know I’m gay. I’m in too deep.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up. Shut the _fuck_ up.” He keeps whining, grabbing my other shoulder to hold me in place while he pokes me, trying to size me up with his chest. “I’m not fucking joking, Richie, I swear to g--” 

“I’m gonna break her heart, man.”  
  
“If you don’t shut the fuck up I am seriously going to--”  
  
“Going to do _what_ , Eds?” I challenge him, and he’s balking, nostrils flaring, eyes going wide while his brow stays hard. 

“I’m.” Eddie starts, blinking rapidly, his grip on me slacking as he loses ground. “I don’t--” He tries again, voice getting smaller. “I don’t know. I don’t _know_ what I am besides scared, Rich.” He squeezes my shoulder again, that last bit of fight showing up in the tight line of his lips. His gaze doesn’t waver.  
  
“Don’t have to be anything.” I tell him straight.  
  
Something in the way my hearbeat is ticking up makes me follow shamefully, “What are you gonna do to me if I don’t shut the fuck up?”  
  
I flinch as I believe for a moment that I’m being smacked. There’s sudden impact as he grabs my mouth, with one hand and then with the other, holding my cheeks together and squeezing. I stare at Eddie and Eddie at me; he inspects me with the hard-ass diligence I’ve come to expect from him. Whatever assessment he’s making by squishing my lips and scanning my face is certain to be a thorough one; if I pass, I’m fucking golden.  
  
He leans up-- fuck, _fuck,_ oh my g-d-- and presses the weirdest kiss I’ve ever recieved to my contorted mouth, head tilted nearly completely horizontal to my frozen face, all inner-lip like a sucking feeling, somehow, and he pulls off with a _smack_ . He lowers his hands.  
  
I blink, the power my nerves had over me slowly dissolving as I grapple with… Whatever the fuck that was. “Do you not know how to--”  
  
“I know how.” He spits like an admission. He’s bright red.  
  
“You wanna try again, man?”  
  
Trepidation ripples through Eddie’s face. I try to read my forecast in the lines around his mouth-- am I getting kissed again? Is it gonna be good? I can’t see the future in him at all, only history. I see little tiny Eddie Kaspbrak, educating the losers club on the dangers of AIDS exposure via subway pole and toilet seat. I see him rattling off whatever’s leftover in his head from the world around him, up to the same old tricks as me at that age, just hissing out air until somebody corks him. I see the fear in his eyes, then, as a kid, hoping somebody will correct him but too prideful to ask if his information’s any good. Why didn’t anyone stop him and tell him everything was gonna be okay?  
  
“Hey.” I say, treading lightly, not out of guilt but care, “it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”  
  
Eddie’s brows knot in such a cartoonish mustering of bravery that I’m chortling as he kisses me again, doing his damndest to get it right, still set on holding my head with both his hands like he doesn’t trust me entirely. Maybe he’s just holding onto me to make sure he doesn’t miss. 

It’s gentle this time. His lips are parted slightly, and a soft puff of air ghosting over my mouth has me opening mine in turn, my hands coming up to mirror his, to caress his cheeks with my thumbs. My fingers follow through to his temples, stroking the hair around his ears, petting him with a kind of delicacy I can’t clearly imagine for myself.  
  
Eddie’s paws on my face soften, and he cradles the sides of my neck instead, thumbs tracing the stubbled underside of my jaw.  
  
Oh, Jesus, Eddie. When we part he’s staring at me with a blend of hope and mortification, and I realize he’s reacting to the way I’m frowning at him with all my compassion exposed. He pats my neck as if to tell me to _cheer up, stop feeling so deeply, you told me everything was gonna be okay, Richie._ _  
__  
_I nod even as he hasn’t actually spoken. I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then nudge my nose against the dimple on that side, continuing to feel out this silent communication. I want touching to come as easily as everything else, but it’s wild fucking territory.  
  
It’s natural, yeah, a known quantity of Eddie-ness, but it’s just like talking to him; the intimacy unfolding between us is simultaneously electric and rife with confusion. The ever-present undercurrent of antagonism keeps sending jolts through us at random intervals. My nuzzle either softens him up too fast or is mistaken for an invitation to knock heads, and his forehead drops against the corner of my glasses. We both go, “hey!”, and he’s taking my glasses off to get them out of the way, but I reflexively interpret that he’s stealing them and set off a squabble.  
  
“Give them back, fucker, I can’t see, I can’t see without th--”  
  
“D’you wanna kiss me or not? I can’t tilt my head without poking my eye out on these f--”  
  
“I’m fucking blind, Eds, I wanna see you, give me back m--”  
  
He stands, and I groan, thinking the game of keep-away is just going to escalate, but from the high ground he just sticks them back on my face. “Thank you.” I tell him, exasperated, righting them as they’re sitting too high on one ear, and I want to kiss him again, but privileges are revoked with the glasses on, apparently, and now he’s standing. “What are you--” I start to ask, then pipe down, laser-focusing in on the way his fingertips are dancing around the waistband to his pajama bottoms. He curls his fingers ever-so-slightly, graciously lifting the bottom of his undershirt to share just a peek of skin.  
  
“What did you wanna see, Richie?” Eddie mutters, and I could mistake him for confident if his hands weren’t trembling.  
  
Just told him I’m fucking queer and now I’m expected to also know what I want. I’m no stranger to desire, but responsibility’s been a lifelong hot potato. I don’t wanna throw Eddie out, I put myself in his room, so what do I… 

“Wanna see your, um--... Can I touch you?” I ask, and I’ve got no idea how my voice sounds anymore. Mouse drowned.  
  
“Okay.” Eddie agrees. I touch the strip of exposed skin between his shirt and waistband, just ghosting my knuckles over the softness there, enjoying the little pleasures of permittance. I brush my palms over his hips, circling both hands around to meet at his back and travel upwards, curving with his spine. He pinches his shirt at his sides and peels it up in sync with my hands, bringing it up over his head in a way that’s so feminine I feel perverse for looking, and then his body’s so masculine that my shame triples. It’s abject. I couldn’t possibly be allowed to see this, except that he stuck my glasses back on my face. Eddie bunches up his shirt in a ball and chucks it into the corner as if it’s the fear itself he’s casting off, huffing at me impatiently when my hands freeze.  
  
I gulp, actually gulp, and it was so nice of him to let me see, but I’ve seen enough. The glasses come off. I fold them on the night stand, and hold that precious image in my mind as I dive in for a face-full of belly hair. I kiss up his stomach, all over his chest, holding him, keeping him close. I’m reveling in Eddie, delicately re-tracing him with my eyes shut, picturing the hard crease above his hips, the shadows of muscle contouring his abdomen, his dark little nipples and the black fur between them. He’s narrow, all wrapped up in me, and I only register that he’s been breathing my name when my bleary eyes meet his.  
  
“Richie.” Eddie sighs, then speaks, “Richie.”  
  
 _And you may tell yourself, “this is not my beautiful house!” and you may tell yourself, “this is not my beautiful wife!”_  
  
Pulling him up into my lap, my hands appear too-large, first squeezing his waist and then grabbing handfuls of his chest. I duck against him so I don’t have to look, again, and attach my mouth to a nipple. I like sucking at him; he squeezes my hair, once, to tell me he likes it too. I feel his hands at my back like a creature padding down me, lifting my shirt, exposing my over-warm middle to the blessed cool air of the room. Eddie was so graceful when his top came off, so I do my best to cooperate as it’s my turn.  
  
He’s reverent, I can see even as he’s a little blurry that those great big nocturnal-animal eyes are shining at me. “You are so fucking sexy.” He tells me, feeling how broad my shoulders are. I didn’t know we were allowed to say shit like that, so I pipe up,  
  
“Me? You’re a fucking sex pot, are you kidding me? Where the fuck did this come from?” I grope his abdomen, holding him accountable for being fucking shredded. This gorgeous, stupid man just laughs at me. I chide him, “You are not allowed to be this goddamn tight. We’re, like, a million years old, man, you’re supposed to be getting sloppy.”  
  
“You like getting sloppy?” Eddie retorts, so keenly flirtatious by the miracle that he’s allowed to be. He’s being fucking playful and it makes my heart hammer in my throat. I initially misunderstood the magic of my come-on earlier, my what-are-you gonna do; I thought I was roping little Eddie Kaspbrak into my world of bold moves, but I was just opening the door for him. With the threshold cleared, Eddie’s the braver of us. My eyes must be shining right back at him. I like him so much.  
  
“Clearly, yeah.” I answer, following up on my meaning even as he’s twisted it. I pull his wrist to the slope of my belly for a feel. He gives me a pat that’s so plainly fond that the both of us flush and laugh, and I guess we’re having fun now, and we’re kissing again, but it’s really _kissing_ , getting all tangled up in one another and licking and breathing and enjoying ourselves tremendously. My hands find his low back again because they love it there. I mean to communicate through a possessive little grab that I’m having a good time, but I pull too enthusiastically and all at once we’re flush, chest-to-chest, my dick smashed against his thigh. I don’t whimper, just exhale, parting our mouths to blink through the feeling. I’ve been getting hard, it’s not like I didn’t notice, but now it’s a fucking character in the scene.  
  
“Are we doin’ this?” Eddie asks, utilizing my hideaway technique by kissing my neck as he waits for an answer. He shifts his knee slightly, just to roll the muscle of his leg against my trapped cock.  
  
“M’not signing anything with my glasses off.” I inform him, still holding his back, cheek to his ear. “But it feels like we’re doing this.” 

Eddie Kaspbrak plants a kiss on my mouth for luck and then dismounts. I’m able to adjust my dick through my pajama bottoms as he climbs off, and I sigh, not speculating too seriously about what might come next until I’m watching him get on his knees. I keep my hand over my dick and hiss, “fuck. Shit.”  
  
He sandwiches those beefcake shoulders right between my clothed knees, and I drop both hands to the mattress before he has to move them out of the way. “I wanna see it.” He tells me so fucking plainly I can feel my dick jump.  
  
Eddie’s got his own pace going. I just sit back and watch. He’s pink in the face, determined, but patient with himself. He feels along the imprint my cock makes in my pajamas with a curious hand, then steadily leans in to measure the length with his mouth.  
  
It occurs to me that he’s never had the opportunity to do this, to anyone, and I’m enjoying imagining that he’s thought a lot about it. Jerked off about it, watched videos, sucked his own fingers, daydreamed about what a cock might taste like. Mine, maybe. “That’s it.” I say, just to say something, and he dampens the fabric with his tongue around the head of my dick, eyes flicking up to meet mine.  
  
Eddie moves his face back slightly. “I haven’t done this before.” He tells me, answering my question in his matter-of-fact tone, distracting himself with chatter as he takes my dick out of the tented slot in my pajama bottoms. “I’m liable to gag. Just putting that out there. No sudden movements unless you want to trigger a--” He blinks down at the cock he wanted to see, sound dying in his throat, and it’s impossible not to feel smug with how sheepishly he follows up, “... Reflex. Um. Oh.” 

“Oh?”  
  
“Fuck off. I’ve never…” He glares at me for only a moment before he’s back to being entranced by the hard dick in his hand. He gives me an experimental stroke, working with the angle of his wrist. His breathing hitches. Eddie’s all kinds of turned on between my knees, marvelling at my cock, and I put a hand in his hair because I hate not doing anything to reward him. I’ve gotten stiffer in his fist, redder as he’s been watching me.  
  
Eddie frowns like he’s considering a compliment; _you’re so big? You’re so hard? Thanks, Richie, I love it?_

He doesn’t say anything. He licks a stripe up the length of me, then kisses around the underside of the head, poking his tongue out in speculative presses. “You want feedback?” I ask, because it’s his first fucking time and I know a nudge in the right direction could make him as happy as unsolicited criticism could make him mad. He laps up the dot of precum at the tip of my dick, smacking his lips thoughtfully as he glances up and nods.  
  
He cups my balls through my thin pants, resuming licking, swirling his tongue around the tip but not attempting to put it inside his mouth yet. “That’s good.” I tell him, petting his dark hair with one hand as I reach for my glasses on the bedside table with the other. I manage to grab them and get them on without disrupting Eddie, and they’re kinda smudged, but way better than not wearing them. I smile at the clearer view; he’s so serious, so concentrated on navigating. “Feels good. Y’wanna try getting your lips around it?” I suggest, and he takes a moment before opening his mouth and suckling, shyly at first, then trying out angles with his jaw until he settles into a light up-and-down bob.  
  
I sigh, lashes fluttering as pleasure coils and thrums low in my groin. It’s a hell of a view. All right with the world, his neat hair between my thighs like this, dick in his mouth. He knows it’s good and becomes momentarily vigorous, bouncing hard and fast, and I have to tell him, “It’s okay, baby, you can keep it steady. Just focus on keeping that hot mouth around the head while your tongue does the rest, okay? That’s what I like.” He tries it out, circling and licking like he was before, now inside his wet mouth. “That’s what I like.” I repeat myself, then let out a little moan, “Eddie, baby, that’s so good.”  
  
Eddie moves his wrist, lazily stroking while he sucks me off, and each of my exhales are a little more vocalized than the last. I call him “baby” again, then again, then “Ed”, then, “sweetheart”, then, “show me how you like it, baby”.  
  
I don’t actually want him to change anything, but he took instructions so goddamn well before. I’m curious.  
  
He pops his mouth off for a moment and licks his lips in consideration. His mouth twists around as he gathers spit in his cheeks, and then he hangs his face over my cock, a glob of saliva hanging off his tongue like a fucking rosary. It touches my cock and he chases it down, not all the way to crazy town, not down his throat, but far enough in that I can see my dick poking the very furthest corner of his cheek as he rolls it around his mouth. He makes a light gagging sound, but immediately counters it with determined eye-contact, dark eyes blown with lust on his reddening face.  
  
“Eddie, oh my g-d--” I’m gasping, heart thudding. He must be able to feel it against his tongue, how much blood is being sent straight to my cock, and I hope he’s proud of himself. He’s unreadable as anything but aroused as he pulls his mouth off again, drooling, hooking his thumbs into my waistband and yanking. I help him out, getting clearance around my dick as he shoves the fabric down around my hairy knees. Eddie stares at the complete picture; the dark pubic hair framing my wet, red dick, then goes right back in, sucking the way I like it, just lavishing the head with circular presses of the tongue. He holds my balls with one hand, not stroking my cock anymore, just taking his time fondling my sack while his mouth does the rest. His free hand creeps up my thigh, then meets my hand on the bedsheets, where it’s been gripping the edge of the mattress. He squeezes.  
  
“Can I finger you?” He asks, voice deep, continuing to ghost his lips around my shining cockhead.  
  
“Yeah, Jesus, do you want to?” I answer abruptly, returning the hand-squeeze before he pulls it away and slots his hand up under me to feel for where he means. He prods, just as gentle as he’s being with my stupid nutsack, crooking his fingers ever-so-slightly to enter me. A little is enough, and I’m whining, holding his hair tighter, feeling helpless and hot and like if he just did that licking thing a couple more times without even moving his fingers I’d be coming. He’s not resuming blowing me, though, he’s telling me,  
  
“Yeah, I do want to. I wanna fuck you.”  
  
“You can fuck me.” I agree hastily, voice pitching up as his fingers move in a delicate circle. “You can fuck me. I’ve got-- uhn, my suitcase, can we-?”  
  
“Your room?”  
  
“My room.”  
  
Eddie grunts as he maneuvers his hand out from under me, and I laugh at him because he’s shaking as he stands, because I’m shaking too, and I’m the one with my pants around my knees. He’s got an obvious erection going on, and I keep my eyes on it as I get my pajama bottoms back up around my hips, lick my lips, make sure he sees me looking.  
  
He’s already on his way to the door as soon as I’m standing, but I’ve gotta catch up to him and rope him in for a kiss before we leave the room, just to find out how it feels while we’re both on our feet. Eddie’s all business the second before, but the moment our lips meet he’s swooning, throwing his arms around my neck and kissing me desperately. He tastes like he was just sucking my dick, and my glasses knock up against his brow bone. It’s heaven. We’re temporarily suspended there, in Eddie’s room, my arms around his waist and his hands in my hair.  
  
 _And you may say yourself-- my god? What have I done?_  
  
We get one last good kiss in before we have to sneak across the hall to my room-- the guilty crossing of that gap makes the whole thing real, makes us admit we’re hiding. The feelings around that threaten to encroach on our blissful little bubble, but thankfully, both of us are too horny to slow down and think about circumstance. We kiss and keep moving. Eddie walks out first, checking that the coast is clear, then hurriedly tiptoeing around the old hall. He moves quicker than I do-- weighs less, is just more graceful, has more practice sneaking around-- and beats me to the wrong door before I can physically stop him.  
  
 _“Asshole!!”_ I hiss, straining above a whisper. _“That’s Ben’s room!!”_

Eddie freezes with his hand on the doorknob, not having turned it yet, slowly looking at me over his shoulder. He’s horrified. I chuckle under my breath as I catch up with him. I turn the knob to what’s definitely my room next door, mentioning quietly, “Unless you wanna wake him up. Tell him there’s a party and he’s invited t--” He whacks my arms over and over as I protect myself in a fit of giggles, beating me back until I’m all the way inside. He seals the door behind us and my cackling gets louder.  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“That’s why we’re here, baby!” I grin, sauntering to where I’ve unceremoniously deposited my suitcase beside the bed. It’s already open, and I bend over to paw through it. “Alright. Condom for mister Kaspbrak,” I rip him one off the strip and toss it to him. “Nice catch. Lubricant for mister Tozier-”  
  
“Why did you pack this stuff?” Eddie asks, tapping the side of my suitcase with his bare foot.  
  
“Uh, when in Derry. Do as the…” I gesture around the town house room with its antique light fixtures and oppressive pattern clashes. “... Y’know, whatever.” 

I stand upright again, placing a hand on Eddie’s waist as he tells me, “I packed vitamins, supplements, over-the-counter pain-relievers, cold and flu medicine, and, um… Methaqualone.”  
  
“You packed fucking Quaaludes?”  
  
“Six in a throat lozenge bag. And Valium, Percodan, Elavil…” He fans his fingers against my chest, stroking the hair there, “... Davron Complex. I drove from New York City, I wouldn’t have been able to get that shit through an airport. Those TSA fuckers would be huffing my contraband at this very moment, Rich, my confiscated property.”  
  
“You’re a piece of work, Eds.” I snort, taking my glasses off preemptively and dropping them off on my bedside table. I kiss one of Eddie’s ears, giving the lobe a little nibble, “I’m just the security guard that jacks off to the masterpiece behind the rope once everyone’s cleared out.” He cups a hand over my package and I sigh, so ready to have my world rocked-- by him, finally, by him.  
  
Short guys with brown eyes weren’t just my type, but loud little guys. Guys that bit back, guys that wouldn’t roll over to avoid conflict, guys who were sensitive and up in my business and weirder than shit. _Eddie_ was my type. For all that I was getting laid before I came home, there was a deep and unscratchable itch, but now I know. Now he’s laying me down on the Derry Town House bed and crawling on top of me, pushing my wrists above my head, kissing my mouth and then my throat. He bites, gentle at first, and then to bruise, slipping my pants down again as I squirm and huff under him. I kick them off my feet, making sure to whack his legs more times than necessary as payback for the way he’s biting me. “Ow, Ed, shit-- ow, ow, oh-- ohhh--” It’s my own damn fault I’m moaning, I’m so fucking far gone. Without the use of my hands, I utilize my feet to try and get under Eddie’s waistband and yank his pants down. It actually works, and I get them halfway down one leg before he starts bitching.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing?”  
  
“Gettin’ you naked, big guy, what the fuck d’you think I’m doing?”  
  
Eddie pulls back in one of his effortful frowns, chin scrunching against his neck. He’d look actually pissed if his mouth wasn’t guilty red from blowing me or from giving me a goddamn hickey just now-- unhanded, I clap my palm to my throat to find out of it stings. Kinda. He could give me another one if he really wanted to leave a mark. My eyes trail down his body now that there’s enough distance to look, and _fuck_ if I wouldn’t mind leaving a mark on him. He wriggles out of his pants on his knees, needing to twist around to get them off his ankles, not facing me for just a moment. The way his dick springs free is fucking obscene, all the more for my not being looked at as I see it for the first time.  
  
When he catches my gaze again, his defenses start coming down. He takes himself in his hand and strokes, and I whimper. He stops, spits in his hand, and starts up again.  
  
“You’re gross, Eds.” I whisper, so helplessly fond that my voice wavers.  
  
“You’re gross.” He returns, served-in-my-favorite-mug kind of warm. “Turn over, Tozier.”  
  
I inhale for the effort required to roll myself onto my front. He scoots back on his knees; I feel the mattress shift as he settles behind me. I arch on all-fours like a cat, then settle onto my elbows, cozying my cheek up to a bundle of pillows which I pull under my chest. I hear him uncap the bottle of lubricant. I think about his cock; how I want a second look when I’ve got my glasses back on, and how surreal it is that we’re grown up now. He’s got dark fur all over his inner thighs, he’s so fucking perfect, and I’m gonna give him such good head now that I know how he likes it. When? Whenever. We’ve got all the time in the world, me and Eddie.  
  
He parts my cheeks. He leans over my back and presses kisses to my shoulders as two slick fingers start working into my hole. I groan, shimmying back against him, turning my chin to try and get a look at him. He’s out-of-focus, planting a kiss at my temple before correcting his posture and focusing the angle of his forearm.  
  
It’s incremental; slow and steady and warm, and my moaning’s fucking lush, “Eddie… Baby…”, and he ramps it up as the give becomes easier. He twists his wrist slightly as he enters me, reversing as he pulls out, playing with what wrings the best noises out of me. I’m all over the map, sometimes grunting, sometimes just panting, sometimes keening, chatting,  
  
“Eddie-- Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie--”  
  
I hear him panting with me. Getting accquainted develops into fucking me with his fingers, pumping his elbow as three digits squelch in and out of me. My breathing’s high and tight and short, and I reach between us to hug my balls for some reason, just palm over my dick to acknowledge how badly I want to get off but not make any move to bring myself there. My groin is hot and heavy in my hand, and I’ve angled my face away from the pillows just to breathe cool air, eyes squeezed shut and brows knit,  
  
“Uh- uh- uh- uh- uh- uh--”  
  
Sharp, short mattress squeaks score our movement beneath us. I grip the pillow. His finger-fucking is getting shallower, shallower, until he pulls out altogether. The mattress is silent. I wiggle back, huffing as I re-adjust my chest, cracking my back a lot louder than I meant to with some flirtatious stretching.  
  
“Wow!” Eddie comments, patting my back with his dry hand. I crack one shoulder for good measure if he’s enjoying the show, and then the other. 

I hear the condom open, and hear him sigh as he rolls it on. I remember-- it’s not sexy, but I can’t help how these things come back to me now-- finding a condom in the woods. Months before anything awful happened, months before Georgie’s boat sailed, Stan and Eds and I passed by a used condom in the woods. Or, we would have passed it if Eddie hadn’t drawn so much attention to it, pointing and rambling and inspecting it with a tree branch. Somebody’s half-bagged leftovers oozed on the forest floor, dirtied but untouched by bugs. Stan got fed up pretty quick. He snatched the branch away from Eddie to repurpose as a walking stick and forged ahead. I lingered with him, though, staring in that dumb way that kids stare. Not at the jizz-- _it was just jizz_ \-- but at Eddie.  
  
I couldn’t have thought it then, but now... It was funny that the kid that claimed to be most frightened of things was the one with the most enthused participation in their uncovering. He’d complain, stall as if putting on a show so that no one could ever tell him he _didn’t_ stall, and then barrel through with such brazen curiosity that he absolutely had to compensate by making a show of how much he hated it. If he didn’t, we might suspect what his mom must have suspected--  
  
Eddie was fucking thrilled by the world.  
  
The world excites him.  
  
 _Same as it ever was-- and here the twister comes--_  
  
He pulls my thighs apart and mounts me, lining himself up before slotting inside, sheathing his slick cock inside of me, just halfway at first, then out, then in, deeper, in, in--  
  
We develop a pace pretty quickly.  
  
“ _Oh._ Fuck. Oh my g-d. Fuck.” My breathing comes out hot and fast. The mattress resumes its squeaking. Eddie grips the front of my hips, digs his fingertips into the soft divots on either side of my belly, while I clutch the stack of pillows beneath my heaving chest. His movement’s strong, deliberate-- I nearly picture him calm behind me, until I hear how ragged his breathing’s gone. I imagine it tapering off into a wheeze, imagine him going for his dummy inhaler, but it develops instead into vocalized grunts.  
  
“Uhnf. Uhnf. Uhnf, fuck, Rich.” He groans, running a possessive hand down my side before giving my ass a short slap, massaging into it right after, kneading, affectionate. My entire backside lights up. I moan to ask for more. He smacks it again, then pets it, and I’m peripherally aware of some wetness below my cheek from where I’ve drooled on the pillow. He fucks me, good and hard, fucks me past numb arousal tinged with discomfort and right into that sharper, more present territory that usually only creeps up right before orgasm. 

  
“Ahh-aaauhh! Auhh!” I’m crying out, trembling, starved for anything while being pumped full of everything, overwhelmed and fucking basking in it, loud because my prostate’s been brushed too hard too many times and there’s pain, loud around the fingers he’s putting in my mouth, and I can hear him because he’s being fucking loud, too, moaning,  
  
“Rich. Rich, baby, Richie, Richie, Richie…”  
  
I suck his fingers like relief in the desert, squeeze his wrist and nurse him like they’re the blessed source of all the pleasure in my skin. I grope for my cock between my legs, sloppily taking ahold of myself and yanking a few times before giving up, too wracked with enjoyment to take myself over the edge. I drop my arm, wrist curled pathetically against the mattress as I’m fucked.  
  
Eddie helps out. Grabs my dick and strokes in tandem with his thrusting, panting,  
  
“Richie. Richie. Richie, I’m f-f-fucking close, I’m fucking close--”  
  
“I-- auh--ghaha-buh--” I garble, meaning to tell him I’m close, too, that we should time it, but my dick fires off before its poetically suitable cue, and I gasp, cry out, buck my hips, drool all over Eddie’s fingers, “Eddie! Eddie, o-o-o-o-ohhhhh, _fuuuuck--_ ”  
  
A few more short pounds of mattress squeaking and Eddie chokes, yelps, follows suit while buried to the hilt inside my ass. “Fuck!” He shouts. “Fuck. Fuck.” The fingers being taken away from my face are trembling.  
  
He stays inside me while he gets soft. He stays longer than I’m used to, I think, curling over my back and wrapping his arms around me. He nudges between my sweaty shoulder blades with his just-as-sweaty forehead.  
  
“Hm.” He hums, a concise statement.  
  
Eddie pulls out, I wanna say _eventually_ , and being able to go boneless on my front is worth the loss of warmth against my back. I’m a pancake as I listen to him switch the bathroom faucet on. I tilt onto my side, and then onto my back, breathing, all those happy feelings percolating all over. Eddie returns with a towel, which I press to my face, first, then under both armpits. I catch a post-orgasmic second wind, powering me to sit up and properly wipe myself down. I watch him watching me. I dab up the cum I deposited on the top sheet and chuck the towel over the back of a chair, pushing the bed covers back so both of us can get cozy. Eddie crawls in with me, snuggling up to my chest as I find an easy position on my back, one arm behind my head, the other curled around to pet Eddie’s damp black hair.  
  
 _Into the blue again-- into silent water._ _  
__Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground._  
  
We’re quiet. Blissfully quiet for the rest of our friends just trying to catch some shut-eye before whatever’s in store for tomorrow rolls around, but I don’t feel like any rules have been broken. People fuck at funerals.  
  
I glance down at Eddie. He’s already looking at me, resting his chin against my chest as his fingers sift through the fur. I smile and he smiles back, flashing those beautiful dimples and sparkly brown eyes just for me. It occurs to me to become self-conscious, to backpedal, to acknowledge the gravity of what happens next, but I just grin at him.  
  
It’s just Eddie.  
  
 _Same as it ever was. Once in a lifetime._


End file.
